


So, We're Stuck on a Ski Lift Together...

by funfanfin (orphan_account)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bellamy Has Feelings, Bellamy avoids his feelings, Bellamy's freckles, Bellarke, Clarke is a clingy drunk, Clarke is a cute drunk, Drunk Bellamy, Drunk Clarke, F/M, Fluff, Octavia has a Walking Dead drinking game, Oneshot, Raven is NOT a freeloader thank you very much, Raven tests out her new ski brace, Skiing, Winter, drunk everyone really, short and sweet because i'm sick of angst rn, ski lift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 14:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5459537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/funfanfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy and Clarke get stuck on a ski lift.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So, We're Stuck on a Ski Lift Together...

**Author's Note:**

> this is short fluff. I think I'm gonna start a series of these little oneshots soon, keep an eye out. Let me know what you think! <3

“So we’re stuck on a ski lift together.” Clarke said grimly.

Bellamy scoffed, rolling his eyes at her. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Look, we might be stuck up here for a while so could you maybe tone down the sarcasm?”

“Maybe.” Bellamy replied arrogantly. “Maybe not.”

Groaning, Clarke glanced down at the ski hill below. A smile slowly grew on her face. “Look!” She pointed with one hand while grabbing Bellamy’s arm with the other. “She did it!”

After flickering his eyes to where Clarke’s hand was grabbing his bicep, he looked down to where she was pointing. It was Raven, crouched flawlessly as she smoothly glided down the ski hill. The bright, neon green brace she had spent the past few weeks working on seemed to be operating perfectly. Bellamy wasn’t surprised. It was Raven, after all.

“She did it.” He echoed, a little fondly.

Realizing that her arm was still on his bicep, Clarke quickly removed it. She rested both of her arms on the frigid bar in front of them. Clearing his throat, Bellamy did the same.

“So we’re stuck on a ski lift together.” Clarke said again, clearly uncomfortable with the silence that had descended over them.

“You already said that.” He replied, a bored glint in his eyes.

Glancing at him, Clarke bit her lip. “About yesterday…”

“No. No way in hell we’re talking about that  _now._ ” He interrupted.

Clarke tilted her head, annoyed. “Bellamy, we have to talk about it sometime.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” He muttered, using his teeth to undo the strap on his glove. Taking them off, he began blowing warm air onto his hands.

“There is!” Clarke argued, frustrated. “We  _kissed!”_   She gestured between them, as if to clarify who  _we_  exactly was.  

He froze. “We were drunk.” 

It  _was_  true. In retrospect, they all should have stopped drinking once they made it to Bellamy’s apartment. But, Octavia had already queued up The Walking Dead on Netflix, insisting that she teach them the drinking game she had learned from a past boyfriend, one that included taking a shot every time someone died or cried or lied. Already inebriated, they excitedly agreed, and Raven, Bellamy, Octavia, and Clarke spent the next two hours playing.

_“Well, that was stupid.” Octavia said, putting a hand to her forehead. “I’m think I’m going to—I’m going to head home.”_

_“Whaaat?!” Raven cried. “It’s only 2:30!!”_

_“In the morning.” Octavia said seriously, nodding in agreement to herself. She pulled out her phone, eyes narrowed in concentration as she sent Lincoln a text that she_ hoped _made sense to sober eyes._

_“Shit, really?” Glancing down at her wrist, Raven realized she wasn’t wearing a watch. Bellamy chuckled and Raven punched him in the arm.  
  
_ _Staggering towards the door, Octavia sighed. “Really.” Opening the door, she swung it back and forth lazily, calling over her shoulder, “Okay, which one of you freeloaders wants a ride? Lincoln’s on his way.”_

_Raising her hand, Raven muttered, “I’ll take a free ride. But that doesn’t mean I’m a freeloader. Got it?”_

_Octavia rolled her eyes. “Clarke?”_

_“O, I think Clarke’s dead.” Bellamy said drowsily. His eyes widened and he quickly clarified, “Not dead, dead. Asleep dead.”_

_Groaning exaggeratedly, Octavia muttered, “Why am I not surprised. Looks like she’s stuck here with you.” She sighed sympathetically before hardening her voice and pointing at Bellamy. “If I come back tomorrow morning and Clarke is still on that couch, I’m disowning you.”_

_“What?” Bellamy’s eyebrows furrowed, offended. “Why would you do that?”_

_“Because she needs to sleep on a real bed with a real pillow.” She explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world._

_After a few moments, Bellamy nodded. “Makes sense.”_

_“Bye big brother.” Octavia exhaled._

_“Bye O, be safe.” Bellamy replied, throwing a hand into the air and waving haphazardly._

_Sighing, Bellamy looked over at Clarke. The two of them had been getting along well enough lately, surprisingly, considering how when Octavia first introduced her big brother to her best friend, they could barely be in the same room for five minutes without arguing. Before he knew it, though, they were doing odd, friendly things, more often than they were fighting._

_Bellamy would come home and find a copy of the mythology book he’d been talking about getting, with a yellow post-it note on it that said, ‘Now you can stop talking about this book every time we pass the bookstore. –Clarke.” Or, they would both ignore the fact that they would always plan to go grab coffee on Thursday mornings, knowing full well that Raven and Octavia wouldn’t be able to make it because of class, and pretending they were bummed that it was just the two of them…again. They would find themselves glancing at each other when their friends would hang out, like they were both thinking the same thing about whatever it was their friends were talking about. They found themselves sitting a little too closely together on the couch during Friday movie nights, their arms brushing against each other too frequently to be considered accidental. Clarke would wipe peanut butter from the corner of his mouth or Bellamy would brush a stray hair from her face. More often than not Clarke would fall asleep during their weekly group get-togethers, her head resting on his shoulder contentedly..._

_They were friends, and it was nice, but that was just it. They were friends. Clarke had just gotten over a horrible relationship (Bellamy shuddered, thinking of the way Clarke’s voice had trembled when she had called him to tell him she had found Finn was dating another girl. Luckily, the other girl had turned out to be Raven, who rightly decided they_ both _deserved better), and then_ almost _started another one, before Lexa had turned her back on her and left the state abruptly for a girl named Costia._

_Exhaling deeply, Bellamy nudged Clarke gently. “Hey.”_

_She grumbled something unintelligible._

_“C’mon, Clarke. Time for bed."_

_“No.” She breathed into the couch cushion, blonde hair strewn over her face carelessly. “I’m okay here. m'comfy.”_

_“C’mon.” He repeated, pulling her up to sitting position, brushing her hair out of her face._

_Clarke looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her lips were moving softly, but he couldn’t tell what she was saying._

_“What?” He asked._

_“Shh!” She said sternly. “I’m counting your freckles.”_

_Chuckling, Bellamy put her arm around his shoulders. “Of course you are.” He said, picking her up, his arm under her bent knees._

_“Whoa. I got taller.” She observed happily as Bellamy carried her to his room, swaying through the hallway._

_“Alright, down you go.” He exhaled, laying her down onto his bed._

_Clarke kept her arms firmly locked behind his neck, though, and he stumbled on top of her._

_“Hi.” Clarke giggled, looking up at him, her pupils dilated and her breaths shallow. Her eyes flickered to his lips._

_“Hi.” Bellamy echoed, smiling, his hands precariously placed beside her hips. He licked his lips, swallowing. “You gonna let me go or...?” He asked, his voice low._

_Instead of responding, Clarke crashed her lips into his, tenderly at first, and then hungrily as she realized he was eagerly responding. She pulled him closer down, and he deepened the kiss. Clarke moved her hands from his neck to his chest, her fingers struggling to undo the buttons of his shirt._

_Bellamy pulled away first, breathless and dizzy and conflicted. “We’re drunk.”_

_Clarke’s fingers stilled on his chest. “Really?” She teased. “I hadn’t noticed.”_

_He closed his eyes and exhaled. Pushing himself off of her, he flopped down onto his back beside her._

_“I thought you—” Clarke started, confused._

_“I do.” Bellamy breathed. “But not while we’re drunk.”_

_They lay there, side by side, caught up in their own thoughts._

_After about five brutal minutes of silence, Bellamy said softly, “I don’t want you to wake up and regret anything.”_

_“I won’t.” Clarke promised sleepily. Her eyes were closed, her breathing evening out slowly._

_He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Clarke,” he whispered, “You deserve better than this. Better than me.”_

_She stirred slightly, but didn’t respond, already fast asleep._

_After a few moments, Bellamy sat up, sighing. He covered her with a blanket, which she snuggled into contentedly. Glancing one last time at her, he shut the door to his room, walking back to the living room._

_Easing into the couch, he flipped on the TV. Yawning, he watched the rest of some sci-fi movie that was playing before falling asleep._

“Bellamy?” Clarke’s voice pulled him back to the present. She was looking at him exasperatedly, that little crease in her forehead appearing. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and he was sure her ears were too, underneath that white and blue beanie she was wearing.

“We were drunk.” He said again, hoping desperately that she would just drop the subject. He considered lifting the bar and just jumping off the ski lift. He probably wouldn’t die from this height. Sure, he’d break a few bones…but it might be worth it. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You said that I deserve better than you.” She said quietly, looking him straight in the eyes.

Bellamy gripped the bar tightly. He could’ve sworn she was asleep when he had said that. It’s not like he could take it back now, though. Looking down, he kept his eyes trained on the skiers below, watching as they weaved back and forth down the hill.

Gruffly, he said, “You do.”

“Well guess what? You don’t get to decide who I do or don’t deserve.” She argued stubbornly. “I do.”

He looked up at her in surprise. Clarke’s hands were immediately on his cheeks, pulling him close to her, kissing him before he even had the chance to say anything. The kiss was soft, tasting of hope, desire, and strawberry chapstick.

Breaking away, Clarke looked up at him, pleased to see the shocked expression on his face.

“So…” she started, corners of her lips quirked up slightly. “We’re stuck on a ski lift together.”

Bellamy shook his head at her, grinning, and kissed her again.

It took repair crews twenty more minutes to get the ski lift going again, but they didn’t complain.


End file.
